Question: How many Rich Sisters does it take to screw up a Christmas?
Answer: Two...Clark Griswold and The Antichrist.
Question: How was your Christmas, Spinster Stitcher?
Answer: Fine...nothing a bottle of Tylenol and a certified mental health professional can't fix (provided that the certified mental health professional happens to be named Jack Daniels).
Question: Did you do anything special for the holidays?
Answer: Why yes, yes I did. I became an only child.
Question: Hey, Spinster Stitcher! Where's your sister, Aunt Chrissy?
Answer: I don't know. I'm an only child.
Next year, I am going to throw a Christmas for all of the people in the world who just want to have a Christmas. You know the types...full of love and good wishes and Yuletide cheer. People who don't ask for much....just a little common courtesy and to be treated with just a smidgen of respect. And, I'm going to make sure that everybody that comes to the Christmas knows that it's OK to be a total schmuck and hope that somehow, just once, this year will be different and that the people that are supposed to love you will know how to behave and not decide to be a colossal (*) instead.
There will be food and decorations and music and presents and so much happiness and joy you'll want to gouge your eyes out. And then, just when you think you can't take it anymore, it will get better because you'll look around and realize that the person who has peed in your Cheerios and generally screwed up your life is off having a grand time with all of the other stupid selfish cruel Misfit Toys who deserve whatever sociopathic fun they've cooked up for themselves and you, my friend, don't have to have your heart broken yet again.
So, Merry Christmas to all of us Clark Griswolds out there in search of a good old fashioned fun family Christmas. May our trees be brightly lit, our eggnog be eggnoggy and may our hearts continue to overflow with joy, wonder, and hope.
Did anybody, by any chance, get a time machine for Christmas that I could borrow? I need a do-over...only this time I'm going to say "Sorry, no room at the inn" and just eat my Christmas brisket and twice-baked potatoes in peace.
(Oh, and I'm going to skip the part whereby I stand in the driveway and try to look authoritative in my Christmas pajamas. It's hard to look authoritative in your driveway when you're covered in penguins wearing Santa hats and your shirt says "Chill".)
(My God. The irony.)
Never fear, kiddos. I am made of pretty hearty stock and promise to bounce back from this latest calamity toot sweet. As soon as I finish my newspaper puzzles and have a couple of damn Greek cookies, I'm heading to the Happy Chair with needle and thread, my coloring book, and five seasons of Downton Abbey for company. Season six starts on January 3rd, and besides...who couldn't use a little escape to the English countryside about now?
Here's hoping that your Christmas didn't have a Rich Sister in sight and that you got everything you hoped for and nothing you didn't.
(*) I had to delete what I had here originally after giving it a moment...you, my dear sweet friends simply do not deserve to have to read it.